So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone. He was a stranger. He and her father shook hands manfully.
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